Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the art gallery, mirroring the tempest inside Clara. She'd envisioned this opening night as a triumph, a culmination of months of solitary work. Now, the air was thick with a shared sense of muted shock.

Her cheeks burned. Every time she breathed, it felt shallow and thin. The other artist, Ben, had his work on display right next to hers. Their themes, their techniques, were eerily similar, the result of a shared, almost cosmic, vision.

Ben approached her, a hesitant smile on his face. “Well, this is… something, isn't it?” he offered, his voice low.

Clara simply stared at the floor, picking at a loose thread on her dress, the silence stretching taut between them, more a scream than any spoken word could be.